


Dust After Rain

by GuineapigQueen



Category: South Park
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Domestic Violence, M/M, Mental Health Issues, the DV stuff is only when craig is super unwell and they work on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 01:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15719055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuineapigQueen/pseuds/GuineapigQueen
Summary: Tweek is finally at a place where he feels well, so why isn’t Craig improving with him?Tweek finds he may have to change his own definition of ‘well,’ or Craig may never thrive with him.





	1. Lost My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is super close to my heart, I really wanted to write something where Tweek is supporting Craig because I think Craig is allowed to have mental health issues to. As a disclaimer, mental health comes in all shapes and sizes, I'm writing based off my own personal experiences which may not fit yours.  
> There's also some domestic violence issues addressed in this fic, so if that's a trigger for you maybe err on the side of caution.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Huge thank you to metrophobic for the beta job :)
> 
> Soundtrack: Lost My Mind - Lily Allen

Tweek stares at the glow of his phone through the darkness. Fifteen minutes ago, it was buzzing incessantly, but has since gone silent.

 

He accidentally fell asleep mid-conversation with Craig, a conversation he’d been struggling to keep up with anyway. As he scrolls through the expanse of text, Tweek can feel himself getting a little overwhelmed. Craig wrote so much, and absolutely none of it is pleasant to read through: each message more needy and sad than the last. Tweek didn’t mean to leave Craig with the impression that he didn’t care, he’d just been so  _ tired _ lately, and sleep came easier to him that night than it had in years.

Craig still hasn’t acknowledged his reply. Tweek bites at his thumbnail. Did he make Craig angry? Was he okay? Why has he been so weird and down lately? Maybe he should call, just to make sure? Then again, Craig claimed to have trouble sleeping lately, so maybe he finally just passed out? 

 

Tweek is still mentally debating whether or not he should give Craig a call when his phone buzzes again—loudly. He’s so startled he nearly drops the stupid thing, letting out an involuntary squeak while fumbling to catch it. 

 

_ Go back to sleep babe, sorry I bothered you. _

 

Fuck. No, this is the opposite of what Tweek wanted. 

 

_ You didn’t bother me!!!! You want me to call? _

 

_ No. I’m going to bed, talk about it tomorrow. _

 

Tweek makes sure to text back a goodnight, complete with pink heart emojis even though he rarely likes to use them. It always feels ridiculous to him, especially when Craig should already  _ know  _ how he feels. But Craig might need them tonight, so he tacks on the silly things at the end in the hopes they might give Craig a small smile. 

 

The uneasiness in the pit of his stomach doesn’t go away, even through his attempt to fall back asleep.

 

///

 

It’s clear to Tweek very early on the following day that they are not going to talk about it.  _ Today _ once again becomes  _ tomorrow _ and it’s evident to Tweek that today is a listening kind of day, not a talking one. Sometimes there are days when Craig talks and talks and just doesn’t stop; a million facts about guinea pigs, space, conspiracy theories. Tweek genuinely doesn’t mind listening for as long as Craig is willing to go. Then there are days where Craig doesn’t seem to have the energy to speak with anyone else, only absorb: those are listening days. Tweek is fine with either type of day, but he knows better than to try and talk emotions on those days where Craig clearly just wants to listen. 

 

Tweek has been ‘well’ for the better part of two years now, and he can’t figure out why Craig isn’t thriving with him. Granted, things aren’t perfect; sometimes Tweek’s brain feels slower than normal and he just wants to curl up with Craig and sleep the day away. But it’s much better than before, when he saw monsters that weren’t there and refused to sleep.

Maybe it’s just the clarity that comes with being on the right meds, but Tweek feels like while he keeps making strides, Craig has slowed down.

Craig insists he isn’t depressed, and Tweek believes him, seeing as Craig isn’t  _ always _ on ‘slow’ mode. Sometimes he’s just Craig, and that’s Tweek’s favourite version of Craig. Sure, sometimes he talks too much or doesn’t get enough sleep, but what teenager doesn’t go through those things? As far as he can see, Craig’s still Craig; he certainly doesn’t need to be locked up and drugged like he was. 

 

Craig holds his hand in the hallway like he always does, even if he refuses to make direct eye contact with Tweek. That’s normal, though; everyone has their bad days, right? 

With anyone else, Tweek might have felt obligated to fill the silence, but he knows Craig well enough to sense that’s not what he needs. 

 

His suspicions are confirmed when Craig spends the entirety of lunch silent and asleep on Tweek’s shoulder. 

 

///

 

Tweek tries to stay over with Craig whenever he seems more down than usual. It mostly seems to help, since Craig doesn’t have to be alone with his own thoughts. (Which, in Tweek’s opinion, is the most dangerous part.) He is used to spending a ton of time at Craig’s. After he came out of the hospital, Tweek’s parents weren’t really picking up the slack. It was the Tuckers who were helpful; they treated him like family, and he owes his current state of wellbeing to their generosity and persistence.

 

But now Craig hasn’t been to school in like, three days, and Tweek doesn’t think he can let it continue any longer. Craig’s parents have been trying, but they leave for work quite early in the morning and only have so much time to try and rouse Craig.

 

Thus, Tweek has been staying over, and trying  _ his _ best.

 

On the first day, he stayed home with Craig, thinking ‘everybody needs a rest day.’ When it was he who was unwell, h _ e’d _ had plenty of rest days—tons, actually—and Craig worked really hard to help him catch up.

 

On the second day, Tweek went to school, but he wasn’t able to get Craig to come with him. Which was fine, but Tweek just couldn’t afford to miss any more school. Especially since his meds made it so difficult for him to retain information.

 

He worried about Craig the entire time.

 

On the third day, Tweek began to realise that this was probably going to keep going on until he put a stop to it. So he tried to get Craig out of bed himself: he pulled off the covers, yelled, even grabbed his ankles and dragged him.

But Craig wouldn’t budge, neither would he talk about it. He just calmly went and got the blankets Tweek had torn from him, and pulled them back over his face.

Tweek had to run for the school bus that morning.

 

Today, Craig pulls out the same old routine: refusing to talk or make eye contact. It makes Tweek want to rip his hair out, like he used to do before he was medicated. He has to stop himself, and take a minute to remember all the times Craig was patient with  _ him. _ The times when Craig calmly tried to coax him out of bed, and the times when he assured him that the voices in his head weren’t real. Tweek has to pull some patience from somewhere, he owes Craig that at least.

 

“Are you going to get out of bed today?”

 

“No.”

 

A reply is better than nothing.

 

///

 

It passes, like it always does with Craig, and afterwards he doesn’t want to talk about it. He never does. He’s always fine no need to dwell on the past, Tweek - live in the moment. He gets irritable if Tweek or his parents bring it up. 

 

Tweek is so, so out of his depth. 

 

“What do we do?” he asks Craig’s parents while Craig is having a shower. Craig will definitely explode if he hears them talking about him.

 

“I was kinda hoping you’d know better than us,” replies Thomas, and Laura elbows him hard. 

 

“What we mean is,” Laura corrects him, “does this look anything like what you went through?”

 

Tweek shakes his head. “Not really, like a little, but not the same…” He trails off.

“Ah, I don’t know. He’s normal sometimes - it’s weird.”

 

“Don’t stress about it, sweetie. We’ll take him to a doctor. Maybe they’ll know the answers,” says Laura, trying her very best—in that way Moms do—to calm him down. 

 

Tweek knows that there’s no way in hell Craig would go to a doctor willingly. They’re quite literally going to have to drag him. Craig doesn’t like admitting he has emotions, let alone the ones that might be making him sick. Tweek has always felt that having a name for the anguish in his head makes it less scary. Makes it seem more manageable and conquerable. But Tweek doesn’t think Craig is in a place where he even  _ wants _ to admit something is happening, let alone give it a name.

 

Tweek enjoys his time with a level Craig—his favourite Craig—because he knows it isn’t going to last. This time he’s just a passenger along for the ride.

 

///

 

“I’m fine,” is Craig’s favourite phrase. Over and over again until it loses its meaning completely.

 

_ I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. Tweek, I am fine. _

 

Tweek is tired of hearing it. He’s tired of running around, and he’s tired of worrying. Craig is exhausting.

 

Tweek can’t stay awake for hours on end like he used to; he has to sink into sleep while Craig works away. Even if he wanted to try and stay awake, his meds always lull him into a foggy sleep. Being able to sleep is, in Tweek’s eyes, a blessing and it was the main thing that convinced him to stay on them. Though they made him feel awful at first, things cleared a little with time, even if he’s probably always going to be slightly foggier than he used to be. It’s a concession he’s willing to accept for peace, for sanity and quiet.

 

He can fall asleep to Craig’s constant typing, even though he’d much rather be snuggled together under the covers. He can even tune out when Craig won’t stop talking, but he can’t turn off the worry. Or the exhaustion. He often feels like he is just dragging himself after Craig, who is running in circles until he passes out. Only to spring back awake hours later, full of life and ideas.

 

The cycle is only short, at best four days maybe. Craig mostly uses his energy in productive ways - he makes new toys for Stripe, he works on his sci-fi novel, and he does all his homework. It’s mostly okay, just exhausting. Always exhausting.

 

///

 

It’s only when it  _ doesn’t _ pass that Tweek  _ really  _ worries. At the most, he helps with damage control when Craig is all wired, and keeps him from doing something stupid. This feels worse: the whims are getting to be more outrageous and stupid. He’s drinking far too much, fighting with his parents over it, and even with Tweek too. Tweek is sleeping alone in Craig's bed but when Craig does manage to catch a few hours, he wakes from nightmares that he won’t tell Tweek about.

 

He’s talking about weird shit too, like the kind of stuff Tweek used to say. Stuff about locking the doors, keeping evil out - stuff that makes zero sense. He  repetitively locks all the doors and sits on his bed wide awake until his body finally takes over and smacks him into unconsciousness. He’s paranoid, and he’s always asking Tweek if he actually loves him, wants to check his phone, and even accuses Tweek of cheating on him. He’s never done these things before in their relationship, and it’s beginning to scare Tweek. His Craig trusts him with everything.

 

Tweek hasn’t been home in weeks. He’s afraid to leave. He knows it isn’t his responsibility to look after Craig, but he doesn’t want Craig to do something he might regret. He just doesn’t know how he can fix it.

 

“Have you eaten today?” he asks Craig.

 

“I will later,” is the reply.

 

“It’s like,  _ -nnn-  _ four o’clock,” Tweek presses. He doesn’t know if Craig ate yesterday either. He did scrub the dishes until his hands were raw, though.

 

“Tweek, I’m not hungry, can you just not,” he says, trying to wave Tweek off. His eyes aren’t meeting Tweek’s own. Instead, they are focused intently on the computer screen, engrossed in whatever project he’s taken up now. 

 

“Can you come lay with me then? I’m so tired,” Tweek tries again, trying to appeal to his emotional side. To make Craig think that he needs to be cared for, to be held until he feels better. And he wouldn’t mind it, honestly, it’s been a while since his boyfriend really cuddled him.

 

“No,” Craig says flatly. Tweek can’t help but feel a little hurt at the straight out rejection. 

 

“What are you so afraid of? Of me?” he questions. Craig is all stiff, and refuses to look at him. 

 

“No Tweek, jeez. I’m not afraid of you, but there’s chemicals in the food you know? You can’t trust that shit. If I fall asleep someone might come in here and then I can’t protect you. Why do you have to be on my case all the time?” he says irritably, barely taking a breath as he rants.

 

“Because you’re being  _ -ah-  _ weird, Craig,” Tweek says with a glare; a glare that Craig can’t even see, because his back is still turned. “Fucking look at me when I talk to you!” Tweek snaps. 

 

Craig turns around slowly, with anger embedded deep in his blue eyes. “If looking out for you—for  _ us _ —is weird, then fuck you,” he spits.

 

“There’s nobody coming, nobody is putting  _ -nnn-  _ shit in your food, please—“ 

 

“You’re so fucking naive, Tweek,” Craig says with contempt.

 

Tweek can feel himself getting riled up. He knows he shouldn’t, but he’s been so fucking patient. He’s at his wits’ end, and Craig still refuses to talk, to acknowledge how  _ weird _ he’s being. How crazy he’s acting.

 

“I remember you telling me that I was  _ -nghh- _ imagining things, when I was scared of shit that wasn’t there. I’m  _ -hnn-  _ telling you now, it isn’t there!” Tweek says firmly. He’s standing his ground; he doesn’t care how mad Craig gets. He isn’t giving up.

 

“I knew they’d get to you. Turn you against me,” Craig seethes. “I’m not fucking crazy.”

 

“Not like me, huh?” Tweek challenges. 

 

“Not like you, you asshole!”

 

“You’ve fucking  _ -ah-  _ lost it. You’re completely and utterly nuts. Crazy. C-R-A-Z-Y. From one nutter to another!  _ -GAH!-“  _

 

Craig lunges forward, and before Tweek can even react, Craig’s fist connects with his cheek. It shocks Tweek into silence. Craig has  _ never _ been violent with him, not ever. He has never seen a look like that on Craig’s face before. Craig has never come for him like that, nor even remotely threatened him.

 

They both stare at each other in silence, completely stunned.

 

Tweek brings a hand up to his cheek. Fuck, it stings. It’s probably going to bruise.

Craig is staring at his own hand in horror, the realisation of what he’s done finally dawning on him. He looks up at Tweek and Tweek tries not to cry.

 

“Fuck,” Craig says. “Fuck fuck fuck. Tweek. Fuck, I am so sorry.”

 

He moves to sit up on the bed, in order to get closer to Tweek. Tweek flinches.

 

“No,” Craig says. “No, don’t be afraid. I won’t ever hurt you again, I promise. God, I’m so fucking sorry, Tweek.” He shuffles closer and Tweek audibly yelps. “Shit,” he says, “let me see.” He brings a hand up to stroke Tweek’s cheekbone.

 

“If you don’t see a doctor I’m  _ -hnn-  _ fucking leaving you,” Tweek finally states.

Craig just nods. That’s how he knows things are bad.

 

///

 

“I’m tired,” sighs Craig.

 

“Me too,” Tweek says quietly, whilst he traces a heart on Craig’s back with his wiry fingers. Craig is sprawled in his bed, laying on his stomach with his face buried in pillows. He crashed not long after he hit Tweek, obviously hating himself for what he did, and he’s been lying on his bed ever since. Tweek heard him crying quietly while he thought Tweek slept. 

 

Tweek knows that feeling too well. He’s never actually laid a physical hand on Craig,  but he’s said some nasty things he still, even now, wishes he hadn’t. He knows how it feels to do something stupid when you aren’t in your right mind, only to crash into a depressing clarity of self-hatred once you realise what you’ve done. 

 

Craig has been apologizing over and over, his eyes going watery and dark whenever he sees Tweek’s bruised cheekbone.  Tweek is still scared by his behaviour, but he believes and forgives Craig. Craig is unwell, and Tweek knows a well Craig would never use violence towards him. Normally when they fight, Craig doesn’t even yell. He just snipes sarcastically and rolls his eyes. Tweek is generally the yeller.

 

“No babe,” Craig says, so quietly Tweek almost thinks he imagined it, “I’m tired of all this. Of being me.”

 

Tweek is still drawing patterns on his back: hearts, flowers, smiley faces - anything he can think of. He hopes this is soothing, but sometimes Craig makes it hard to read him. He’s a little horrified at that remark, though.

 

“It’s not forever. You’ll feel  _ -nnn-  _ better soon,” he asserts. Experience tells Tweek that Craig will. He’ll have some good days, maybe a week, and the cycle will reset itself and begin again. 

 

“No, you can’t cure being a horrible person. A horrible toxic person who abuses his boyfriend isn’t an illness you can medicate,” Craig laments. He’s sincere, too, which bothers Tweek the most. He really believes that he is bad and broken.

 

“I don’t think you’re abusive. I think you probably  _ -ah-  _ need a Doctor, or some kind of help at least,” Tweek tries to explain. “You were sounding like me. A well you wouldn’t ever  _ -hnn- ever  _ hit me, and I know that.”

 

“Come,” Tweek says, crawling closer to his love, his one, his person. He can’t bear to see him so unhappy. Tweek wishes he could just make it all go away. Just kill all the nasty thoughts and feelings, but he can’t. Being there and present is all he’s got, so he lays down next to Craig and gives him a small shove. “Come here,” he says again, which prompts Craig to roll over, and Tweek envelopes him in a hug. Envelopes him in all the love he has.

 

///

 

The Doctor's office is so weirdly quiet. Tweek hates these places, predominantly because they smell all chemical and sterile, like a hospital. And Tweek hasn’t got too many positive memories attached to hospitals. 

 

He doesn’t want to tell Craig that, though. He can’t let Craig catch on to his anxiety as it would only bleed into Craig’s. 

 

Craig is clearly nervous. Tweek can tell, because he isn’t saying anything to him at all. Just staring at his hands and tapping his foot against the linoleum floor. 

 

Tweek has to strangle the noise climbing up his throat as the  _ tap tap tap  _ intensifies. 

 

as Per Craig’s request, his parents aren’t with them. He wanted Tweek to be there for moral support, which Tweek was more than happy to do.

Later, when Craig wasn’t in the room, Laura Tucker told Tweek quietly that it was probably for the best. That Craig was more likely to talk honestly if they weren’t there. And Tweek sort of had to agree - he himself is not particularly good at keeping his feelings from other people. He often blurts out his issues whether he actually wants people to know about them or not. Craig keeps his cards close to his chest, but Tweek thinks if there’s one person he’s most likely to spill his guts to - it’s going to be him. 

 

Tweek takes one of Craig’s hands out from under his nose and threads it with his own. He makes sure to squeeze his hand to try and ground Craig back in the present. He learnt about grounding in therapy and so far it’s worked pretty well for him - maybe he can subtly help Craig with it too. 

 

“Craig Tucker?”

 

Craig shoots up real quick, so quick he pulls Tweek with him. 

 

“Do you want me to-“

 

“Yes!” Craig says much too loudly, before Tweek can even finish the question.

 

“Okay, okay.” He squeezes Craig’s hand again as they follow the doctor who will decide Craig’s fate down the linoleum hallway.

 

“I feel sick,” Craig murmurs forlornly, his feet making a muffled scraping sound as they drag against the impeccably clean floor.

 

Tweek himself feels a little nervy too, mainly for Craig, and how Craig might deal with whatever this doctor chooses to say. His anxiety is dulled from the usual dose of sedatives he takes with breakfast - he sort of wishes he could share them with Craig right about now.

 

The doctor is female, which puts Tweek more at ease. He thinks this might be because his own psychiatrist is female, and has performed some modern day miracles in regards to him.

 

She has highlights in greying-blonde hair that is pulled off her face in a loose ponytail. She has laugh lines and nice eyes behind professional-looking glasses. She looks kind. Tweek highly doubts her appearance makes Craig feel any more or less at ease, and that’s due to his decrease in rationality. Tweek shoulders that for them both. 

 

“What can I do for you today, Craig?” she asks. Damn, she’s good. She’s already sussed Craig’s going to feel more at ease called by his first name. Tweek supposes you pick these things up when you interact with sick people for a living. 

 

“I er… I don’t know,” Craig replies, and looks to Tweek. 

 

Tweek holds his ground and stays silent. This isn’t something he can do for Craig. He’d be doing a massive disservice to Craig if he did - Craig has to learn to articulate and manage his own feelings. He can’t just go through Tweek every time something gets uncomfortable.

 

“I, um, I think I might be crazy?” Craig blurts out. In any other situation Tweek might have laughed, but the atmosphere is just too serious.

 

“Why do you think that?” she asks him, tone calm and even. Another point to her, Tweek decides. Craig definitely would have shut down if he felt invalidated or dismissed by her reply.

 

“Because I hit him!” Craig exclaims, immediately hiding his head in his hands.

 

“No that’s not… that’s not  _ -nghh-  _ why we’re here,” Tweek tries to reassure him. He remembers that he’s not supposed to be talking for Craig and bites his tongue.

 

“Yes it is,” Craig says to him. He then turns to the doctor. “I don’t know why I did it and I don’t want to do it again. So please help me?”

 

“I think you should explain what  _ -ah-  _ what happened before?” Tweek says, nudging him before internally chastising himself again.

 

“I thought people were putting things in the food…” Craig struggles to find the words, “...and he, he challenged me and before I knew it I’d done it. It’s like, I left my body for a second and when I came back I was just staring at my hand like an idiot.” He takes a deep breath after spilling all the things that have been lurking below the surface. Simmering for months now, maybe longer.

 

“Does that happen to you a lot?” she asks him, direct.

 

“Not hitting, I thought I’d never  _ ever  _ hit him,” Craig replies, his voice wavering a little as he admits his sin out loud, again.

 

“No, love, she means the paranoia, I think?” Tweek says. He doesn’t want to focus on the hitting. Not now, anyway. That can come later. He wants to focus on the things that led up to it. They can go do therapy or something further down the line if that’s what Craig wants. But this is step one right here.

 

She nods.

 

“Oh, uh sometimes yeah. Mostly I think that people are talking about me when they aren’t or that they are only pretending to like me. I got it in my head once that Tweek was cheating on me, which obviously isn’t true.” Craig pauses before he finds the words he needs. “It’s never been like that before. Like, thinking about demons and people trying to kill me. That’s new.”

 

“Do you have other times where you feel sad? Like you can’t get out of bed?” she asks him. Tweek likes the way she just keeps asking him things, never losing momentum and never waiting for him to change his mind.

 

“Yes,” Craig grits out and squeezes Tweek’s hand,  _ hard. _

 

The doctor writes something down on her notepad, then looks back up to Craig. “I have to ask this,” she says sincerely, “but have you ever had thoughts about harming yourself or others?”

 

“Not others,” Craig quietly answers. “I didn’t… I’d never thought about hitting Tweek, if that’s what you mean?” 

 

“Have you ever had suicidal thoughts?” she clarifies. 

 

Craig stiffens next to Tweek.

 

“Yes,” he squeaks.

 

This is news to Tweek. He’s a little horrified, but he swallows it down. They can talk about it when Craig doesn’t feel so scared and raw.

 

“With your permission, I’m going to refer you to a psychiatrist who can do an assessment on you. From there they can decide what treatment you might need. Is that okay with you?” she says, her gaze kind despite the formality of her language. 

 

“Yes,” Craig says quickly. “Can they help me make sure I never hit Tweek again?” 

 

“Once they’ve made an assessment they can refer you to a psychologist who can,” she replies, and gives him a small smile. When Tweek catches her eyes he mouths a ‘thank you.’

 

“Okay,” Craig says, before breathing out an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

 

They leave the office with only a slip of paper for a referral, but it’s a start. 

 

///

 

Craig has to wait a little while before he can actually see the psychiatrist he’s been referred to. Tweek spends those few weeks in a state of semi-terror, hoping and praying that Craig doesn’t change his mind. The bruise on Tweek’s cheek, which has slowly faded, seems to have cemented in Craig’s mind that he does need help. 

 

He’s sort of at the tail end of a depressive phase when the appointment comes around - Tweek had to spend a good portion of the time trying to convince Craig that he isn’t horrible. He knows that there’s nothing he can really do to change Craig’s feelings, but he still feels like he has to try. 

 

Tweek goes with Craig to the psychiatrist’s office, but the actual psychiatrist (who is a man this time) tells Craig it would be better if he came in alone. At least for the initial assessment. Tweek is so grateful that Craig agrees to go without fuss. 

 

So for an hour, Tweek ends up in a psychiatrist’s waiting room all by himself, but he doesn’t mind. He’s pretty sure Craig has done the same thing for him a few times, too. His memory of that time is a little hazy.

 

He just spends the hour texting Clyde the answers to the quiz they’re about to have in art class. Tweek is better at remembering things if he’s already interested in them; he really likes learning about art theory and how certain artists operate.

 

When Craig does come out, he gives Tweek this awkward little wave, like Tweek might not know who he was if he didn’t. It makes Tweek quietly chuckle to himself. Craig and the doctor go over to the reception desk. Tweek tries not to eavesdrop. He knows Craig will tell him about the appointment if he wants to. 

 

“He gave me this prescription,” is the first thing Craig says to Tweek after he’s done talking to the receptionist. He waves a small bit of paper at him before shoving it into his pocket. Tweek smiles at him and reaches for his free hand.

 

“Do you want to fill it now before we go?” he asks Craig. He doesn’t want to assume just because Craig has a piece of paper that he’s actually ready to start on his recovery just yet.

 

“Yeah, he said I should start straight away,” Craig says dully, and shrugs.

 

“That’s good. Was he nice?” Tweek asks as they both exit the office doors hand-in-hand. Next stop: the pharmacy, Tweek supposes.

 

“Yeah, he was. He said that I am sick but I’m gonna get better and he gave me a number for a psychologist because apparently you have to do both kinds of therapy,” Craig mumbles quickly. Tweek almost doesn’t catch it. 

 

But he does, and he also catches the doubt in Craig’s voice.

 

“You don’t have to do both; it just works better that way,” he says, and gives Craig’s cheek a light peck. “I’m proud of you.”

 

If there was a diagnosis, Craig doesn’t use those words. Tweek gets that they might be too hard to say out loud He also suspects that Craig doesn’t believe whatever the doctor said to him, and he might be afraid of ridicule. His parents ask him about what happened at the psychiatrist, but he waves them off and locks himself in his room. 

 

The medication that Craig has been put on is called  _ Lamictal, _ and it seems to be very different from the Seroquel and Lithium that reside in Tweek’s medicine cabinet. When Craig is asleep, Tweek stays up late to Google exactly what Lamictal is - and he’s kind of relieved at what he sees. The list of side effects aren’t pages long like his own meds, and a rash is the only real life threatening one. 

 

He also reads that the drug is commonly used to treat Bipolar and other mood disorders.

This intrigues him. How can he and Craig both potentially have the same illness, yet present so differently? 

 

He hopes Craig will confide his diagnosis in him soon, but only when he’s ready.

 

From his own experiences, Tweek knows not to show Craig what he finds on Google. It’ll only scare him. Meds are terrifying until you find the ones that work, and there’s no point working Craig up further while he navigates this transition. It feels like the cruel thing to do really. 

 

Tweek can only hope the drug does what it’s supposed to. They can figure the rest out from there.


	2. Basic Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is part 2, I put a lot of time, love and research into this fic so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart anyone who read, left kudos or commented on chapter one. 
> 
> Thank you so much to metrophobic for his tireless work on this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: Basic Instinct - The Acid

When Tweek first started on his medication it was against his will. Craig called the cops when he tried to jump out of his bedroom window and they took him to the hospital. Tweek refused to speak to Craig for several days. 

 

There were bits and pieces he didn’t remember about his time in the hospital. A lot of those days blurred and bled into one another - he was too sedated to even really know what was going on.

 

They only used the B-word in his second-to-last session with the overworked psychiatrist who saw them all on a conveyor belt. Shuffled in and out the doors like clockwork, decided in a ten minute conversation whether they were fit to rejoin society or not. 

 

Bipolar 1.

 

Craig came in every day. He sat with Tweek while the doctors talked to his parents instead of him. The longer Tweek was in there, the more he realised Craig was probably the only person actually on his side. 

 

He didn’t speak to Craig again straight away. First, he let Craig hold him. It felt like a more powerful way to say ‘I’m sorry’ than words. Words weren’t really something his sedated brain could properly manage anyway. The touch seemed to be enough.

 

He left the hospital with a prescription and a diagnosis. He was too tired to fight it.

 

Tweek kept taking the medication he was given; he had to, it was one of the conditions of his release back to the sane population of society. 

But the thing that really sold him, the thing that made him keep taking them regardless of the court order, was that for the first time in years he could sleep at night. 

 

That’s all he’d wanted to do at first - sleep. He just wanted to curl up under his blankets and drift in and out of consciousness until he had to get up to pee. Craig stayed with him every night: made sure he ate, showered and did all those small things that humans were supposed to do. 

 

Eventually Tweek started to feel more like himself again. The meds made everything feel slower, which became something he actually liked once he got used to it. The constant zoom of anxiety and intrusive thoughts were all but gone, and he could concentrate on things he actually enjoyed instead of second guessing and worrying about everything. 

 

He was more forgetful, he spoke less eloquently, and he didn’t feel as academically sharp as he had before. But Tweek could actually sleep. He wasn’t jumping back and forth between unbearable anxiety and intense sadness anymore. He could breathe and just be himself. 

 

It felt like a trade-off, but it was one he was willing to make. He did feel, for the most part, better.

 

After that, Tweek hadn’t needed all that much convincing to stay on his medication.

 

Sometimes, mainly in the beginning, he complained to Craig.. Every single time Tweek threatened to stop taking them, Craig was there to get him back on track until he didn’t need it anymore. Tweek did, eventually, figure it out for himself and no longer had to be told to take his meds. 

 

On his own new prescription, Craig wanted to sleep more as well, but it wasn’t as much as Tweek. He wasn’t totally zonked; his tired was more of a slow, forgetful tired. He wasn’t falling asleep at his desk in class, but he took longer to solve math problems he’d normally be able to do quickly in his head, or didn’t always know the answer to questions asked of him. 

 

For Craig, the risk of side effects didn’t seem to be as high, so long as he didn’t get a rash. Which, so far, had not happened. Tweek very much had his fingers crossed.

 

///

 

“I’m dumb,” Craig tells him one evening. They’re doing their homework together at Craig’s desk, hunched over their worksheets while their socked feet touch beneath the table. 

 

“What the fuck man, you’re not?” Tweek is genuinely taken aback by Craig’s abrupt statement. They were working together in comfortable silence before Craig decided to voice his apparent revelation.

 

“I am, I don’t know the answer,” he says hopelessly, a deep frown etched into his forehead. 

 

“Dude, neither do I?” Tweek remarks playfully, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work, though. Craig remains fixated on the numbers on the page. They often look like a jumble to Tweek, but that’s nothing new to him. He’s never really been able to make sense of math without a great deal of help from other people. He found that his brain fog affected his ability to articulate sentences a lot more. His history essays became more jumbled and far less coherent. It was frustrating, but it faded and he’s mostly back to normal now.

 

Well, he has to work a little harder than everyone else but he gets there in the end.

 

“No offense, but you’ve never been good at math,” Craig is as blunt as ever. Tweek is glad that the meds haven’t taken that edge from him.

 

“I mean, I do like to  _ -nnn-  _ cheat off you,” Tweek replies with a shrug. 

 

“Well don’t anymore. You’ll fail.”

 

“Listen Craig, you aren’t dumb, okay?” Tweek sighs. Apparently humour isn’t going to work tonight. “This happened to me too. It gets a bit better once  _ -ah-  _ once your body adjusts to the dose.”

 

“I feel stupid, like in class when I don’t know the answers,” Craig says, and slumps his shoulders a little more for effect. “What’s the point of me if I can’t do the one thing I’ve always been good at?”

 

Oh, wow. 

 

Those thoughts are so painfully familiar to Tweek that it almost blows him back. The force of the emotion hits him hard in the chest and winds him. The pain squeezes right at his overworked heart.

 

Tweek had struggled a lot with both his reading and writing when the medication induced brain fog has descended. The math thing hadn’t been new and didn’t really bother him as much, but not being able to get words in the right order? Not being able to articulate things how he wanted to? That hurt. 

 

He hadn’t felt like he was good for anything either.

 

“You’re going to get back to a place where you can figure out the  _ -hnn-  _ answers again, but even if you didn’t man, you’re worth more than that,” Tweek says, trying his best to put his waterfall of emotions into words. Craig is so much more than numbers on a page. He’s a living, breathing and complex ever-changing puzzle that Tweek will never tire of figuring out.

 

“Who cares if you can’t do math, you’re still Craig,” he begins again. Tweek doesn’t struggle with words as much as he used to, but he still has to step back and really think sometimes. Make sure they come out in the right order. “You’re still a massive  _ -nghh- _ dickhead, but a dickhead who is incredibly loyal, supportive and probably the best cuddler I’ve ever met. You’re more than  _ -ah-  _ that, like  _ way _ more.” Craig replies with a self-deprecating laugh.

 

“I don’t embarrass you?” he asks quietly. He doesn’t embarrass Tweek in the slightest, but clearly he’s embarrassed by himself.

 

“Why the shit would you  _ -hnn-  _ embarrass me? I’m  _ Tweek. _ I can’t speak and I got committed at fifteen! You can’t  _ -nnn- _ embarrass me, dude,” Tweek assures him. He slides a comforting arm around Craig’s shoulders, hoping that his warmth will penetrate this thick layer of self hatred around Craig. He hopes that his love can help Craig the same way Craig helped him.

 

Craig shifts a little closer to Tweek’s side, and sighs loudly.

 

“Because sometimes my words come out in the wrong order, and my sentences go nowhere. I know you hate when your parents do that.” He stares down at his hands, which are clasped together on the desk in front of them.

 

“What they do is different. They talk  _ at _ me, not  _ to _ me. You don’t  _ -ah-  _ do that!” Because it’s not the same thing at all, not really. Tweek would be a hypocrite to fault Craig for not being able to string a sentence together, whilst adjusting to the new medication at the same time. “Have you listened to me try to speak, dude? You’ve got nothing to - _ nghh _ \- worry about,” Tweek reassures Craig, before pulling him in for a hug. Maybe he  _ can _ absorb some of the negativity, and give Craig a little love in return. Craig buries his face against Tweek’s shirt and Tweek runs his fingers through Craig’s dark, messy hair. 

 

“You swear it gets better?” Craig mutters into the fabric of Tweek’s shirt.

 

“It should, but if it doesn’t, you  _ -hnn-  _ you can always try a different one!” Tweek tries to sound as light and optimistic as he can. He places a kiss to the top of Craig’s head, and desperately hopes his words will come true.

 

///

 

“Tweek, I really don’t think these are working,” groans Craig from his side of the bed.

 

“We can’t know that yet, man,” Tweek tries to rationalise. “It’s too early.” He’s been quietly researching Lamictal whenever Craig isn’t around to see it. Mostly at home, when he is in bed right before falling asleep, but sometimes he’ll read a little bit in class or if he’s working at the shop on a slow night. 

 

Sometimes he’ll research when Craig is passed out next to him, too. Craig has always gotten headaches, but the medication seems to have increased their frequency. Tweek’s research so far tells him that if everything goes right, the headaches should calm down once his body gets used to the new medication.

 

But try telling this to Craig, who’s in his room with the lights off for the third day in a row, face buried in a pillow. He’s frustrated and done, and Tweek gets it. He spent the first week on Seroquel dealing with a sharp throbbing pain behind his eyeball that regular paracetamol just wouldn’t mute.

 

He doesn’t get migraines like Craig does, though, and his online research has informed him that Lamical can exacerbate them. It can also initially increase depression (what? Give a chronically depressed person a mood stabiliser that can increase depression before making it right again? Warning would have been nice), and it takes a long-ass time to kick in. 

 

Tweek can see why Craig may want to give it up at this point.

 

Craig groans dramatically. The pillow muffles his voice, so it’s likely not as dramatic as he intended.

 

“You have to give it more time man, like a few more weeks or something? Then you can try a  _ -hnn-  _ different one?” Tweek suggests. He’s been expecting this. When he first started, Craig had to hassle him to stay on  _ his _ medication. Tweek really only persisted because of Craig’s begging. 

 

At the time, Craig was scared Tweek might kill himself in a manic flight again. And here is Tweek, feeling the same about Craig’s depressive slump.

 

“What if none of them work? Maybe there’s nothing even wrong. Maybe I’m just awful, or maybe he got the wrong diagnosis.” Craig rolls over so that Tweek can see his face. He looks tired, eyes blank and hollowed out above and around his cheekbones. The very dim light coming through the curtains seems to emphasise the dark circles and frustration lines on his forehead.

 

“You gonna tell me what that is, dude?” Tweek asks him. He needs to hear Craig actually say the words. He runs his fingers through Craig’s unwashed hair and hopes it feels comforting.

 

Craig doesn’t speak for a good few minutes, the air between them thickening rapidly with tension. Tweek waits patiently for him, even doing so sends his anxious little heart into a frenzy. 

 

“I think it’s wrong,” Craig finally says quietly. “I think I made all this up.”

 

“I don’t think so dude,” Tweek replies, as surely as he can. “The meds you’re on _-ah-_ _seem_ to fit the symptoms that I’ve seen, but I’m also not like, in your body.”

 

“Bipolar 2. Is that even a real thing?” Craig asks, his voice full of nerves and only just above a whisper. Like he’s frightened if he says it any louder, it will become reality.

 

“Yeah dude, it is. It’s what I have but like, you,  _ -nnn-  _ you don’t try to jump out of windows.” Tweek replies. He’s trying his best to make a joke out of a shitty situation, to show Craig that it’s not the end of the world - if  _ he _ can find stability, anybody can.

 

“He said  _ bipolar _ and I kinda thought, I’m not like Tweek. I mean… I’m not sad all the time either, so I just thought I was… making it up.” Craig speaks very slowly; his words come out thick and his sentences get bogged partway through. Tweek waits for him patiently. He knows he will get there in the end.

 

“You’re not making it up, man,” he promises Craig. 

 

///

 

Tweek lies stomach-down on his own double bed, watching Craig fix his hair in the small mirror he keeps on his desk. It’s nice to see Craig has started caring again about how he looks: he’s back to washing his hair and wearing clothes that are clean and put together. Tweek doesn’t mind how he looks regardless; he still loved Craig even when he was too depressed to shower, and lived in the same pair of pyjama pants for a week. But he’s beginning to look  _ well _ again - that’s the bit Tweek really likes.

 

It’s moments like these where Tweek can really bask in the amazement that this boy is his. Craig chose  _ him _ , for whatever reason, and his life is so much richer because of it. Tweek never really understood why Craig stayed with him after his breakdown.

 

Up until now, that is.

 

He’s discovered a new admiration for Craig, for his seemingly undying patience when Tweek was the one who was unwell. Trying to keep both himself and Craig afloat leaves Tweek feeling exhausted to his bones. He knows that he was probably much harder to wrangle. 

 

It hurt Tweek to see Craig so desperately unhappy, but he does acknowledge that Craig didn’t try to jump out of a window with superhuman, manic-induced strength. The heavy lifting Tweek did was predominantly emotional; Craig had to do a little physical as well.

 

He’s really beginning to understand the meaning of ‘through sickness and health.’

 

The only time he even contemplated leaving Craig was when Craig hit him, and even then it was only a fleeting idea. The rational part of his brain knew that Craig wasn’t really himself in the moment - not  _ his _ Craig. 

 

That didn’t mean that it didn’t still hurt, both mentally and physically. It did, a literal punch to the face and a metaphorical one to the soul.Tweek knows that if it ever happens again he’s going to have to stomach thoughts of leaving: because if he doesn’t, it becomes a cycle.

 

It sets a precedent.

 

He knows that this Craig, the one looking in the mirror, wouldn’t even dream of striking him. This Craig before him, Tweek can only watch in awe.  _ This _ Craig is so brave, so strong and so devoted. He’s been through hell so many times, yet still managed to come through at the other end stronger than ever. 

 

Tweek doesn’t think he could ever stop being attracted to Craig. He comes in many forms, and all of them are beautiful. But the Craig of here and now is starting to look like himself again. There’s colour back in his cheeks, and his hollowed face has filled out. Tweek cut his hair for him a few days ago, and he’s begun styling it again. But most important of all, his eyes have that spark behind them again; they’ve become the lively and expansive blue oceans Tweek once knew.

 

Tweek drinks in his form. Yes, he looks so much healthier. There’s shape to him again, his shoulders held higher and his skin clearer.

Craig still faces the mirror with his back to Tweek, and Tweek isn’t going to let the opportunity to check out his boyfriend’s wonderful ass go to waste. He could write poetry about how delicious it looks in those sweatpants Craig wore to bed last night. They’re actually Tweek’s, and he always feels a swell of pride in his chest whenever he sees Craig wear them. Although, Tweek doesn’t think they’ve ever fit him this well before. Tweek has always been bigger around the middle, even moreso since he started on seroquel. 

 

It takes him a moment to realise that Craig seems to notice this too. He’s pinching his stomach, frowning at the mirror before him. Tweek’s lovestruck awe quickly morphs into concern. 

 

He hops off the bed quick as he can to join Craig in front of that unforgiving mirror. (Tweek has always avoided his own reflection; he always looks as crazy as he is.) He rests his chin on Craig’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Craig’s middle. He gives Craig a squeeze for good measure, and Craig exhales a long breath that he was apparently holding. Tweek waits for the tension in Craig’s body to ease.

 

“What are you thinking about, man?” Tweek asks, even though he has a pretty good idea already. Craig is still frowning at his reflection, like if he intimidates the mirror enough it might change into what he wants to see.

 

“These meds are making me fat, Tweek,” he says with malice.

 

Tweek scoffs. He can't help it. Craig is so far from  _ fat _ the word just sounds silly in his ears. His belly is squishier, his ass fills out his jeans a bit better and there’s a bit more to grab on his hips. But it’s really not much, not in the grand scheme of things, and Tweek kind of likes how soft everything feels when they cuddle. 

 

“Don’t fucking laugh at me, you asshole.”

 

“I’m sorry, it’s not at  _ -ah-  _ you… I just- you aren’t fat, okay? Don’t be ridiculous!” Tweek tries his very best to contain the laughter bubbling in his chest. There’s just  _ no way _ Craig is fat. In fact, Tweek is even a bit bigger than Craig. He always has been. Craig’s always been a beanpole, and Tweek was a chubby child. But after he started on antipsychotics, the gap between them widened even more. Tweek isn’t even fat, not really. He’s chubby: he has a bit of a tummy and a whole bunch of stretch marks to show from his recovery. But he’s grown to like himself as he is. He likes having stability more than wearing a smaller jean size.

 

“What the fuck is this then?” Craig snaps, and pinches his poor stomach again.

 

“Dude, seriously, have you seen me lately? If you’re fat I’m in--  _ -nghh-  _ \--in fucking trouble.” Tweek takes Craig’s hand in his own to keep it away from his belly.

 

Craig pauses, carefully choosing his next words.

 

“No, but… it’s different. I like it on you,” he says with conviction. Tweek gets that Craig has different rules for himself than the rest of the world regarding body image, but Tweek is here to quash those double standards as fast as he can. He good-naturedly pokes Craig’s lower belly with his free hand. 

 

“What if I like this on  _ you? _ Huh?” he challenges, then presses a kiss to Craig’s neck. 

 

“Tweek, don’t be dumb,” Craig deadpans, like this should be the most obvious thing in the world. Like Tweek is silly to find him attractive.

 

“No, really. You look healthy and I really, really like it dude. Your ass looks so good in those black jeans you love, and it’s really  _ -hnn-  _ comfortable when we cuddle,” Tweek says with as much warmth as he can conjure from the caverns of his heart. He takes a deep breath and continues with his attack.

 

“Look, I know you’re  _ -nnn- _ frustrated, but have you noticed that you’ve been much more level? A lot more like yourself? I think your happiness is way more attractive than you being a bony  _ -hah-  _ motherfucker - so sue me!” he concludes, and hopes that at least some of it sunk into Craig’s head. 

 

“Babe, I… I just really love you,” Craig says, voice wobbling with emotion. He bites his lip and Tweek can tell that he’s trying not to cry, so he gives his torso another squeeze. 

 

“I love you too, you  _ -nghh- _ idiot,” he replies fondly. Craig turns slightly to kiss him, Tweek closes his eyes and enjoys the proximity of their mouths. It’s a romantic kind of kiss, close mouthed and lingering. But for Tweek it’s sunlight to a wilting flower; his sunflower heart blooms in his chest and winds its way round his lungs. The flower finds its roots and cements itself, his love for Craig permanent and ever-growing.

 

Craig stares at him doe-eyed when they break apart. He brushes a stray blond hair from Tweek’s face and kisses him on the forehead. Like he just can’t stop, his mouth must be on Tweek in some way or he might disappear.

 

“I’m sorry we haven’t like… done it, since um, since before I started the meds,” he mumbles, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Tweek makes sure their hands are intertwined. The last thing he wants is for Craig to feel pressured in any sort of way, especially if he’s feeling unattractive and not quite himself yet.

 

Tweek didn’t want to have sex when he first got out of the hospital, either. The antipsychotics shot his sex drive right down and almost completely killed it. Things are better now that he’s on a lower dose, but his drive is still considerably lower than the average teenage boy. 

 

Craig never once complained, and Tweek was pretty sure there were many occasions during that recovery period where Craig just had to beat off in the shower and wait.

 

It wasn’t the end of the world, and Tweek got it. He was okay to wait.

 

“Craig, it’s totally fine,” he tries to assure him. “We can wait till you’re  _ -ah- _ comfortable. You waited for me, I can do it for you.”

 

“Okay,” Craig sighs. “I’m just like… learning to be me again. I almost feel like I’m not in my own skin and it’s jarring. I thought those shitty feelings were a part of my personality.”

 

Tweek understands this feeling too. Sometimes mental illness becomes so ingrained into your sense of self that something pathological begins to feel like a personality trait. He has to sift through the parts of himself left over and re-assemble the person he’s supposed to be.

 

“You’re still you, just happier,” Tweek says, squeezing his partner's hands. “You are  _ -nnn-  _ enough, just you. As you are.”

 

“I hope so,” Craig breathes out while pulling Tweek into a warm, loving embrace. 

Tweek lets them melt together, lets his sunflower heart wind its leaves and stalks around Craig - finding his own roots and intertwining.

 

///

 

It isn’t all smooth sailing from there on out, as such is the nature of bipolar - Craig gets better and he gets worse. It’s a very terrifying game of trial and error with impossibly high stakes.

 

The six months they get on that first dose are the best six months Tweek’s had in a good while. Craig’s parents notice the change in him too. He isn’t happy smiles  _ all _ the time now, but he is normal. Things that he usually worries about seem to become “no big deal, Tweek.”

 

They just get to... do things normally.

 

They get to do stuff like go to the movies, go on dates, take dumb selfies or make out in the spare room at house parties. Have normal, slow and practiced sex - this is how Tweek assumes it’s supposed to be, rather than the all-or-nothing they were dealing with before.

 

It’s unremarkable, and it’s perfect.

 

As wonderful and solid as baselines are, they’re called ‘baselines’ for a reason. Emotions are meant to fluctuate within reason, but it’s so easy for them to peak (or fall). 

 

Tweek almost doesn’t notice the peak when it happens. Craig never stops taking the meds, so they dull it to some degree. He gets his  _ ‘oh’  _ moment with the realization that they are having sex more than Tweek can keep up with. He doesn’t realise it until he’s suddenly tired— _ too _ tired—and has to just roll over, pass out and be done with the whole thing. 

 

But the highs? They’re okay on their own. Tweek’s had a few manic episodes himself that weren’t inherently psychotic. Craig’s usual version of mania—hypomania—already diluted by medication, and he’s mostly just energetic. It’s never the peak Tweek worries about.

 

The rise gives way to the fall much in the same way fault lines change and shift. The earthquake is inevitable, even if that earthquake is silent, tired and teary.  A disaster is still a disaster whether it is quiet or loud; it devastates nonetheless. Depression doesn’t discriminate and the human body can quickly develop a tolerance to the medication. You can only sustain your dose for so long until it becomes a part of you, absorbed into your bloodstream and rendered ineffective.

 

The body can only fight for so long.

 

It’s messy, because there’s no real way to scientifically measure how much or how little Craig will need. Too much might cause his migraines to debilitate him, and too little could bring them back to that dark shadowy place - bring back the Craig he doesn’t really know. 

 

All they can really do is wait, wait for the psychiatrist and the therapist to have an opening, wait for the paralysing depression to pass and wait to see if this new dose will do its job.

 

Wait for Craig to regain function again. 

 

Tweek tries his best to be patient.

///

 

“I never actually thanked you,” Laura Tucker tells Tweek while they’re watching Tricia and Craig play on the PlayStation. They’re trading insults and shoving each other in that way Tweek assumes siblings do. He wouldn’t have minded a sibling during childhood, but he doesn’t really care anymore.

 

“For what?” he asks. Today was a quiet day, the kind of day when Tweek can really take the time to appreciate the little things. Like warm sunlight enveloping his face, like dust after rain or the way his chest flutters when Craig’s smile reaches his eyes. 

 

“For watching over Craig all this time,” Laura clarifies. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.” She smiles at Tweek warmly, and it makes him feel like he belongs here—much more than his own parents ever managed to.

 

“He did that for me too. It’s what you  _ -nghh-  _ do isn’t it? When you love someone?” If there is one thing that is rock-steady in Tweek’s life, it’s the unwavering devotion he and Craig have for one another. A depressive episode feels like a blip on the radar, a spike on the chart, but on the whole the chart soldiers on. It’s just a spike: short, extreme but ultimately it cannot sustain itself. Tweek is sure he and Craig can sustain themselves together, spikes and all. 

 

Laura places a hand on his shoulder, which brings him back to the conversation and to the present. She looks at Craig and Tricia, her eyes darting back and forth suspiciously before leaning in closer to Tweek. She lowers her voice even more. 

 

“I know you love him,” she whispers, “and I know he’s doing a million times better. But if he ever,  _ ever _ hits you again, you come to me and you leave, okay?” The hand on his shoulder is steady, her eyes serious and stern. Kind of like how Craig’s can get sometimes when he is worried. They have the same blue eyes.

 

Tweek nods at her sincerely.

 

“Okay,” he promises. “I told him that too. I don’t think he knew what he was doing. But if he does it again, I guess I’ll  _ -hah-  _ have my answer.”

 

It was pretty impossible to hide what happened between them from the Tuckers. At school Tweek could say he walked into a door or something. He could even come up with an excuse to his own parents. But the Tuckers heard the argument preceding the violence. Tweek knows that Craig would have been absolutely skinned by his mother, even if he hadn’t been there to hear it.

 

Tweek does trust Craig, and he has no reason not to at the moment. He’s making good on all his promises and his recovery. 

 

“Good,” Laura says. “I love my son, but we’re not going to let that happen under my roof.” The seriousness in her voice and expression make Tweek squirm a little on the spot. 

 

“I don’t think he will  _ -nnn- _ do it again,” he finally says. “I think the illness might have taken over for a minute there.”

 

He pauses, to really give his brain the space to find the words.

 

“I know I don’t have to stay,” he states. “I want to.” He knows this for sure. He doesn’t feel trapped; quite the opposite. The better both of them get, the more their world can expand. Really bloom and let in the rays of light. “But I  _ -ah-  _ won’t if it turns into a pattern, I promise.”

 

Laura nods, and turns her gaze back to Craig and Tricia. This is the most animated Craig has been in a little while. It’s been a while since he has really been able to shake the clouds of his last depressive episode, and the drowsiness that comes with a higher dose of lamictal. 

 

“We’ve never really had anyone in our family with a mental illness before,” she tells Tweek, still watching her kids bicker and play. 

 

“Really? I thought it was  _ -hnn-  _ genetic?” Tweek has honestly thought about that, too. He didn’t feel like it was his place to ask Craig’s parents if this was something that looked familiar. 

 

He supposes it’s probably better that the Tuckers don’t have a family curse like the Tweaks do. His mother's side is riddled with mood disorders, most of them left untreated. His mother is permanently zonked, and Tweek has a sneaking suspicion that she is on the wrong medication, but his dad likes it that way.

 

Clearly Craig is the first Tucker (at least in a while) to have this kind of illness.

 

“Well, I think that’s only a part of it. There’s nobody in our immediate family I can think of,” Laura answers him. Her voice is sincere and kind. “So thank you,” she continues, “because without you we wouldn’t have known what to do or how to even get him to agree to do it.”

 

“Oh…” Tweek trails off. There’s no words in the entire English language that can encompass the infinity that is his feelings. Being here for his love, his one, his person, isn’t a chore. Sure, it’s difficult and it’s painful, but it isn’t a chore. It isn’t something Tweek feels obligated to do; to him, it’s natural, and he’d never do things any other way.

 

Laura seems to get it.

 

“Also,” she says softly, “thank you for making him feel less alone.”

 

///

 

If Tweek’s heart is a sunflower, Craig’s is a rose. It’s got thorns, but if you feed it, nurture it, let it thrive—it’s beautiful in bloom. 

 

Although—to Tweek at least—roses are beautiful even when they aren’t fully open or in full bloom. The types of roses that people go so crazy over are only at half-bloom anyway. They adore them without even realising the potential of what’s to come.

 

Tweek wants to be here to see all the phases of its bloom. 

 

On the outside, the changes may look small, but to Tweek they are worth so much more than their weight in gold. Standing on the outside, Craig probably just seems less short-tempered, more easygoing and not so anxious. 

 

He’s very much still Craig. He still doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and he’s still very liberal with the use of his middle finger. He still tunes out when Clyde talks about Bebe’s tits, but you only have to mention guinea pigs to pique his interest once again.

 

He’s predictable, he’s consistent, he’s steady - he’s Craig.

 

Medication isn’t perfect. It can’t be - it’s as flawed as the human being who is taking it. It’s not magical either; it’s an inexact science.

Tweek is not cured, Craig is not cured, but they are the closest to happy that either have been in years. They don’t want to be happy all the time, they just want a normal emotional scope. Tweek cherishes when he feels sad, but doesn’t dwell on it. He can worry without it taking over his life. He gets to be a person again. 

 

Craig isn’t paralysed by brain fog forever. The puzzle that is his new brain does rearrange itself, and eventually the answers do come back. Logic wins out over emotion. (Tweek cannot say the same for himself, but no two brains are the same.) 

 

Craig starts using the b-word too; at first it’s just around Tweek when they are curled together in bed at the witching hour. He uses the word  _ bipolar _ like he believes in it. The word, and the illness, have less power over him the more he uses it. He starts using it more around his parents, Tricia and then his close friends. The more the word comes out, the smaller the scary monster of the unknown shrinks. Tweek tries to use the word liberally too, at least in reference to himself - he’s not going to try to speak for Craig. 

 

They are two of a kind, with only a number separating their diagnosis on paper and to the uninformed. Their illnesses are as quirky and different as they are, and there isn’t any chance in this world that Tweek’s experiences are universal. 

 

To Tweek, Craig has not changed dramatically on the outside. The changes are small: he is much more self confident in a natural way, rather than an inflated manic sense of self. He seems to like who he is, and this is Tweek’s favourite kind of Craig - a Craig who is comfortable in his own skin. 

 

By looking after one another, through sickness and health, they have intertwined one another’s roots so tightly that their two hearts strengthen and thrive together. There’s finally sunlight and rain in equal measure to cement their roots and keep them in bloom for the rest of their lives. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr is blesspastacraig if you wanna be friends :)

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is blesspastacraig if you wanna be friends :)
> 
> Also, this fic is completed so expect part 2 soon!


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